“I’m your alpha,” I said, the words half a joke, half a promise.
He rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.
I let myself drift for another minute, breathing him in. He smelled like the herbal soap Jojo stocked the bathrooms with, but underneath that, he just smelled like Carter. A little sharp, a little sweet, always familiar.
Eventually he sat up, swinging his legs out from under the blanket. The bump of his belly shifted his center of gravity, and he caught himself on the headboard with a little grunt.
“You good?” I asked, eyeing the way he moved.
“Just heavy,” he said. “Getting harder to stand up without assistance.”
I was already halfway out of bed, feet hitting the floorboards, before he could protest. I steadied him with one hand under his elbow, guiding him to his feet.
“Don’t coddle me,” he warned, but there was no heat in it.
I didn’t answer. Just kept my hand on his back, steering him toward the bathroom. He went in, closed the door, and I heard the faucet start. I moved around the room, pulling on jeans and a fresh t-shirt.
My own reflection in the mirror looked tired—eyes ringed in gray, jaw heavy with a new growth of beard—but I didn’t care. Carter was right: sunrise here was better than any dream.
In the kitchen, I started the coffee and found the last of the bread. I sliced it thick, set the toaster, and went hunting for the honey. Jojo had, in fact, hidden it behind a wall of preserves, but I found it anyway.
Carter came in a minute later, hair damp, face scrubbed clean. He wore one of my shirts, big enough to cover the top of his belly, and a pair of old sweatpants cinched tight at the waist.
He looked ridiculous and perfect.
He made for the coffee first, pouring himself half a cup and blowing on it while I worked the toaster. I watched him over my shoulder, making sure he didn’t topple over. He perched on a stool, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other propping up his head.
“You ever think about what it’s going to be like?” he asked, eyes on the window again. “After?”
I set the toast in front of him, slathered in butter and enough honey to give a dentist nightmares. “Yeah,” I said. “Every day.”
He smiled. “Me too. Used to scare the shit out of me.”
“Does it now?”
He looked at me, the old uncertainty gone. “No. Not with you here.”
Something unspooled in my chest—a knot I hadn’t realized was there.
We ate in silence, the comfortable kind. When we finished, I cleaned up, and Carter wandered back to the bedroom to grab a sweater. He moved slow, but not like he was hurting. More like he was savoring every step.
When he came back, he had his phone and a folded sheet of graph paper. He laid the paper on the table and smoothed it out. It was a rough map of the Hargrove land, sketched inpencil, with little Xs marking the river, the tree lines, and the old irrigation ditch.
“You’ve been planning,” I said.
He shrugged, sheepish. “You said you wanted to build a house. I just—“ He trailed off, then started again. “I want it to be perfect.”
I set my hand over his, pressing down until he met my gaze.
“It will be,” I said.
He nodded, and I knew he believed me.
We finished our coffee, got dressed, and by the time we were ready to go, the sun had fully broken over the hills, turning the fields outside into a sea of gold.
Carter grabbed his coat, shrugged it on over his massive belly, and gave me a look that dared me to laugh.
I didn’t. I just held the door for him, one hand on his back, the other ready to catch him if he slipped.
